


Rain

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2019 [6]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Death in the Family, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Old Feelings, just...feelings, new feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Something new starts in their grief and pushes them toward the future Sakuno has only imagined until now.





	Rain

It’s raining that day, of course. Why is she always sad when it’s raining? Sometimes, Sakuno wonders if it rains  _ because  _ she’s sad. But inside the mausoleum, a dusty old monument that houses the remains of several generations of Ryuuzakis, the rain is kept at bay.    


The stone walls can’t chase away the cold, though. On the bench in the middle of the mausoleum, she shivers.   


“I miss you, Grandma,” she murmurs. “You always made so much sense of everything, but nothing makes sense without you.”   


She can almost hear Sumire responding to her grief.  _ You’re strong, Sakuno. Just because you feel weak sometimes, that doesn’t make you weak. _ Her grandmother had always been full of wisdom. It’s what made her an excellent tennis coach and an even better influence.    


Sakuno hears the shuffling of feet behind her, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth when she sees Ryoma’s soggy hat announce his presence. “You’re here.”

Ryoma flicks the excess rain water off of his jacket and takes the seat next to Sakuno on the bench. “Yeah.”

Despite both of them being cold and wet, Sakuno scoots over so her arm is flush with Ryoma’s. Ryoma doesn’t mention it, but she sees some of the rigidity in his shoulders ease away at the contact.    


This is hard for him, too, after all.

Flexing her fingers to coax some warmth into them, Sakuno stares at the stone plaque with Sumire’s name carved in flawless, neat kanji. She’s already traced the characters over and over, but looking at it with someone beside her who sees it as well makes it far more real. It isn’t a bad dream, it isn’t a mistake. It just is.

Ryoma’s hand slides over her antsy one and quiets it with a single thumb brushing against the side of her palm. She glances over at him, eyes wide, but his gaze is solidly glued to the plaque as hers had just been. The usual impassive mask rests on his face, so she turns her attention back to the plaque, as well.

She doesn’t know what foolishness possessed her to think Ryoma is there for her. Sumire had been an old friend of the Echizen family for longer than either of them have been alive. She had been a part of Ryoma’s family almost as much as she had been with her own, and Sakuno is sure there is nothing in the world that would make Ryoma come just to be a shoulder to cry on. He just isn’t like that.

Oh, but right now, she wishes he would be. 

“It’s cold,” Ryoma murmurs. “You should go.”

“But —” Sakuno starts to protest before she sees it. A single, fat tear streaks down Ryoma’s cheek and he does nothing to dash it away.  “Oh.” Naturally, Ryoma wouldn’t want anyone to see him cry. It doesn’t fit his image.

Sakuno doesn’t leave, however, and Ryoma doesn’t suggest it again. Instead, she rests her forehead on his shoulder and tangles her fingers with his. They sit there like that until the cold soaks all the way down to her bones and his previous advice seems like a better idea every second.

Ryoma seems to have read her mind, easing himself out of Sakuno’s grasp and heading wordlessly back out of the mausoleum. Sakuno snatches her umbrella and runs after him as fast as the wind whipping icy needles of rain will allow.

There’s a car parked at the edge of the cemetery, a red one that is just flashy enough she knows it can’t be anyone’s but his. The remote in Ryoma’s hand unlocking the doors confirms it. He doesn’t tell her to get in and doesn’t mention it when she joins him. She had walked there from a nearby bus stop and would go back the way she came in a heartbeat if he indicates he doesn’t want her around at the moment. 

His only response to her presence is a brusque, “Put on your seat belt.”

The car pulls away, and Sakuno watches the dreary landscape streak by, smeared by the rivulets of rain racing across the window glass. She isn’t terribly familiar with the area, but Ryoma seems to know where he’s going.

Sakuno blinks in surprise when they pull up to Ryoma’s apartment building, sliding into the covered parking stall marked 203, his unit number. She bites her lip as they both exit the car, and the relief from the downpour is lost on her as her gaze darts between Ryoma and literally anywhere else, not sure where she is supposed to be or go.

Rubbing her hands up and down her goosebump-riddled upper arms, she says, “Well, thanks for the ride. I can walk from here.”

“No.”

The word surprises her. “No?”

Ryoma doesn’t look at her. His gaze is fixed on the keys in his palm. “No.” 

His fingers clench around the keys until his knuckles turn white, and Sakuno sucks in a sharp breath. She races around the tail end of the car to pry his much-stronger fingers from their iron grip. The keys almost fall onto the pavement, but Sakuno catches them and puts them in her jacket pocket. 

“If you need me to stay, I will. You don’t have to ask.”

He never would, but after fifteen years of being subjected to Echizen Ryoma, she has a pretty good idea of what he wants if she thinks hard enough. She’s wrong as often as she’s right, but outside of tennis, she can’t think of anyone who has a better success rate.

Replacing the keys with her hand in his grasp, she leads him to the entry of the building and to the elevator. The trip to the third floor is utterly silent, save for the telltale  _ ding _ of the elevator as it arrives at its destination.

They reach Ryoma’s door, which Sakuno unlocks, making sure to hang Ryoma’s keys on the hook next to the door. He would lose them otherwise, which is why she had put the hook there for him in the first place. She hazards a glance at its white paint and smiles just a little bit when she sees the paint scraped off the inside of the hook from repeated use. 

Next to her, Ryoma stands motionless in the entryway, still in his soggy shoes and staring into the depth of the room. She wonders if he’s really looking at anything or he’s trying to collect himself. 

She certainly doesn’t expect him to sit on the floor and bury his face in his hands, but he does and Sakuno doesn’t hesitate to drop to her knees beside him. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, far more broad than the spindly boy she had met when they were twelve. Her forehead rests against his temple, and she murmurs, “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

A few tears of her own dribble down to join the rainwater dripping from Ryoma’s hair, and he leans into her like she’s the only thing keeping him upright. Maybe she is. 

Some petty part of herself wonders why someone literally had to die for Ryoma to open up to her the way normal people do, but she squelches the thought quickly because he has never been normal a day in his life. He’s many things — exceptional, talented, brusque, abrupt, and far more attractive than he has the right to be considering his personality — but normal is not one of those.

Ryoma doesn’t object when Sakuno slips his shoes off before peeling his sodden socks away. It takes a few minutes and more than one insistent tug on a limb or a sleeve here and there, but she strips away his wet clothing. Nothing separates her gaze from the rest of him other than a pair of boxer briefs.

“Ryoma, you have to move,” she says with a groan. “You’ll freeze to death if you don’t put on something dry and warm.”

He does as he’s bid and follows her into his bedroom, which is a pleasing shade of blue she wonders if he picked out himself. A long-haired Himalayan is curled into a ball on the center of the bed, so much like his previous cat Karupin but she knows it can’t be.

Standing at the foot of his bed in his underwear, Ryoma’s head hangs low and he is trembling from head to toe. Whether it’s from the cold or the ache in his heart that matches her own, she doesn’t know, but Sakuno gently guides Ryoma toward his bathroom and starts the shower. 

Once it’s warm enough, she nudges him in, but his hand doesn’t let go of hers. He looks up, a silent plea in his eye, and Sakuno leans in to press her lips to chase away the tear slipping down his cheek. Ryoma’s palms drift to her hips and slowly creep up, dragging the hem of her sweater along with it. 

Here and there, over the past decade or so, Sakuno has vividly imagined a moment just like this one, but nothing about it matches those pale fantasies. There is no hunger or urgency to the way Ryoma removes her clothes piece by piece; there is only need for each other.

Stripped down to her bra and panties, Sakuno follows Ryoma into the shower and melts into his chest as he wraps his arms around her. His chin rests atop her head, and Sakuno lets the rigors of the past week flood out of her. The sound of the shower doesn’t quite drown out her own tears. It’s embarrassing to cry in front of Ryoma — in front of anyone, really — but she needs this, needs him.

They need each other.

The water starts running cold and the bathroom fills with steam before Ryoma reaches back and shuts it off. Sakuno is warm to her very marrow, and she isn’t sure it is entirely from their shared shower. His hand is still firmly connected to hers, and he doesn’t let her go until he pulls a towel from the cabinet and wraps it around her. 

Swaddled in the oversize towel, Sakuno finally meets Ryoma’s gaze. His eyes are dark, and she can’t tell what he’s thinking. That isn’t unusual, but this is not the same mask of indifference he reserves for things he doesn’t deem worth his time. It becomes clearer when his head dips to close the distance between them.

He’s going to kiss her.

The feel of his lips on hers is not a heavenly experience like people like to make it out to be when you kiss your one true love for the first time. It’s neither messy nor insistent nor frenzied, but rather a calm communion of feelings neither of them have ever voiced, especially to each other.

Ryoma loves her, and Sakuno loves him. She can’t remember a time when he hasn’t monopolized her heart. Even after fifteen years of his playful mockery and cheeky attitude, somehow they still make their way here. Sakuno can almost imagine Sumire’s voice in her head, telling her it’s about time that boy figures things out.

It’s automatic, the way her arms loop around his neck as he lifts her up. His forearm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, Ryoma carries her out of the bathroom adjoining his bedroom and to the sprawling bed. The cat vacates with an upturned nose, and Sakuno nearly giggles at the sight. Her limbs splay out over the covers as he lowers her on top of them, at ease and welcoming when he joins her. 

If his touch is skilled or not, Sakuno has no idea. Regardless, everywhere he touches her tingles. His calloused fingers traverse the curves and planes of her body, places no one but her has touched since she was a baby. There are no nerves, no knots of anxiety that usually accompany spending more than ten minutes with Ryoma. The only thing that exists in her universe is the feeling of his skin against hers.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear, and his mouth follows in their wake as he eases them down her legs. When they land with a wet slap on the floorboards, his eyes cross the length of her bared body to meet hers. He’s asking her permission to keep going, to fulfil a decades worth of imaginings, and her answer is tied up in a single word.

Sakuno gasps his name, and Ryoma feathers kisses up the inside of her thigh until he reaches her most secret place. His tongue drags the length of her entrance, wrenching a throaty groan from Sakuno. The sound of his mouth getting to work is drowned out by Sakuno’s soft cries. 

There is nothing else like it. No feeling, no dream, no fantasy can compare to the sensation of Ryoma lapping and sucking and kissing her down there. Her hands don’t know what to do with themselves, so she thrusts them into his hair. Fists knotted in his hair and tugging roughly on the silken strands, Sakuno feels the room tilt at his growl of response.

She’s almost dizzy by the time his mouth finally moves on.

Ryoma’s lips meet hers again, and Sakuno can taste herself on his tongue. It’s a strange and wonderful phenomenon, one she indulges in further as Ryoma’s patient hand delves underneath her to pluck at the clasp of her bra. They part from each other when he tugs it from her chest, and Sakuno’s cheeks are pink as she takes in his focus on her exposed body. She’s seen the look before, one usually associated with a tennis match Ryoma is particularly invested in. He lives and breathes competitive tennis. For this night, however, he lives and breathes only her.

Sakuno frames his face in her hands and looks into his shining eyes, glazed over with desire, and gives him a wobbly smile. His name tumbles from her lips, and hers from his. Not the usual ‘Ryuuzaki’ he has always called her —  _ her _ name. The sound of it from him is foreign and wonderful and Sakuno could listen to it over and over. 

Their mouths meet once again, and Ryoma swallows her moan as he pushes inside of her. 

She is so, so full, alight with an almost anxious energy that races through her skin. His breath is ragged, tickling her nose while his forehead rests against hers. There is something she wants from him, needs from him, and her body seeks it of its own accord. He doesn’t move until her hips churn against his.

The surging warmth brewing in her abdomen flares through her as he moves at a sedate pace. It’s too much, yet not enough. It isn’t until her hands clench in his hair and pull on the roots that his motions change. His pelvis slaps briskly against her thigh, and she meets every thrust with equal fervor. 

They’re chasing something together, and Sakuno understands why her high school friends would sneak off to mess around with their boyfriends. Who wants to go to the mall or eat cheap food when feelings like this are available? Maybe it’s because she’s in love or Ryoma knows what he’s doing, she doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters but making the rest of the world go away, leaving the two of them alone in a cloak of bliss.

Ryoma spills himself inside of her, pushing through his orgasm until he sprawls on top of her, lips a breath away from hers. 

Sakuno clutches him to her chest and buries her face in his hair. It’s still wet, with frazzled lumps of it poking out every which way. Seeing Ryoma out of sorts in any fashion is an oddity in and of itself, and she clings to the idea that it’s something only she gets to see.

Against her breast, Ryoma mutters, “Five years ago, I asked the old lady if I could marry you.”

Her eyes fly open, and she reels when Ryoma’s earnest gaze meets hers. “What?”

“Baka.” He smirks and gives her hair a gentle tug, a throwback to her old hair style with the twin braids. “Who else could I possibly want to be stuck with for the rest of my life? And if you’re stupid enough to actually like me, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Her jaw quivers with emotion she can barely name, let alone keep at bay. “Ryoma, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because she actually gave me an answer and I was always still a little afraid of her.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “She told me that I better not dare until I know for sure there will never be anyone else.”

“She said that?” Sakuno gasps, eyes wide. “She never mentioned it.”

A deep shade of pink blooms on Ryoma’s cheeks and he ducks his head. “I may have asked her not to.”

Sakuno giggles until she can barely draw a full breath. “Grandma did have a way of keeping you in line.” Her laughter dies, and in its place, a sigh settles in. “I miss her so much. There are so many things I wanted to learn from her, but I’ll never get the chance.”

Ryoma snorts. “As if she won’t haunt the both of us. At the very least, she’ll haunt my dad.”

An image of a ghostly Sumire chasing after Nanjiro makes her bite her lip just to stifle her laughter. “I think you’re right.” Despite her heavy limbs, Sakuno eases herself up and sits on the edge of the bed next to Ryoma. Her toes trace the grain of the floorboards, and she can barely hear her own voice. “So do you?” He raises a brow, and she amends, “Know for sure.”

“Of course.” Ryoma’s matter-of-fact tone makes Sakuno’s heart stutter. “There was never going to be anyone else. I just needed time to figure out when.” 

“Oh?” Her side lists into his, and she rests her cheek on his shoulder. “When did you realize it was time, then?”

Without hesitation, he states, “When you took my keys.”

Sakuno thinks back on her words, which were something to the tune of her offering to stay as long as he needs her, that he doesn’t need to ask it of her because she can’t fathom doing otherwise. Not when her usually chilly love interest seems adrift.

“I meant it.” She perches her chin on his shoulder. “I could never leave you if I knew you needed me. I love you too much for that.”

Ryoma snares her lips into a fierce kiss, and she is breathless by the time he lets her go. “I have no idea why or how someone like you can feel like that about someone like me, but the old lady was right. I needed some time to figure out the difference between wanting you because it makes me happy and wanting you so I can do my best to make  _ you _ happy.” He harrumphs. “Early twenties me was an idiot. You definitely shouldn’t marry that guy.”

Her mouth twitches into a smile. “How could I? Nobody ever asked me.”

A plethora of expressions blend onto Ryoma’s face before it drops into a scowl. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhmm.” She closes her eyes and relishes in the warmth of the arm that slips around her waist and holds her close. She can almost feel him pouting. “If you’re sure, then what’s the problem?”

But yet again that night, he surprises her. “Nah, it’s just that I always assumed you would say yes. I’m just getting around to realizing how stupid that is.” She gives him a pleading look and he chortles. “You know that doesn’t work on me.”

He sputters when Sakuno swings a leg over his and straddles his lap. Draping her arms over his shoulders, she leans in close and grins. “I think this probably works.”

She squeaks in surprise when he grabs her by the bottom and shoots to his feet. Her back bumps against the wall behind her, and their faces are impossibly close. With hooded eyes, Ryoma mumbles, “Marry me.”

“Yes.” Sakuno pecks the tip of his nose. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His kiss is sweet and patient and nothing like she expects. Her feet ease to the floor, but they stay fastened together until she unleashes a heavy yawn right into his mouth. Ryoma laughs even as he fishes a t-shirt from his closet and slips it over her head, donning a loose pair of shorts himself. 

Both of them climb into bed, and Sakuno curls up into Ryoma’s side, and he tucks an arm around her in kind. A persistent thought hovers in the forefront of her mind. “You realize you asked me to marry you without us even dating, right?” 

Sakuno feels Ryoma’s chuckle under her cheek. “We’ve been together forever. I just didn’t realize it for a long time.”

Warm and filled to the brim, Sakuno starts talking about her life with Sumire and Ryoma listens. Well, she assumes he’s listening, but even when they lay there together and it’s deep into the night, he never asks her to stop.

Maybe Ryoma has always been listening, the way she always has for him. The thought makes her heart flutter, and even the next morning when she wakes next to Ryoma for the first time and definitely not for the last, it never stops skipping a beat here and there.

**Author's Note:**

> I like Ryoma growing out of his emotional vacancy, so sue me. :P


End file.
